


A Ballad of Tridents and True Love

by Trixie999



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Male Slash, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Panem, Smut, The Capitol (Hunger Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixie999/pseuds/Trixie999
Summary: We are not allowed to pray to any deities, so I pray to Panem instead. I pray to the nation I call home for guidance and protection, even though those who control my nation offer me nothing. I pray to Panem because it is all I can pray to. When I get reaped for the 75th Hunger Games, I pray to any and everything I can think of. Then I meet the incrdeibly handsome and enigmatic Finnick Odair, the Victor of the 65th Hunger Games. He isn't from My home of District 6, but he helps me anyways, more so than his own tributes. Despite my best efforts, I slowly begin to fall for him, and once the games start, I pray to the love I have for him instead...
Relationships: Finnick Odair/Original Male Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. A Prayer to Panem

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Yes I'm starting another fic without finishing my other ones, surprise surprise. Anyways, here is just a short little preface to proceed the first real chapter (which will probably also be short, I don't want to bore you with stuff you already know) Gay Finnick and OMC who is the main character. Alternate universe: Only Katniss won the 74th Hunger Games and there is no second rebellion. Peeta was never reaped for the 74th games. The 3rd Quarter Quell has a different stipulation. Annie and Finnick are not together but are friends. Finnick is 24 and main character is 17 going on 18.
> 
> I own nothing but my OC. All characters and settings and plot points belong to Suzanne Collins the author of The Hunger Games Trilogy.

From the Treaty of Treason: 

In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up one male and one female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public reaping. These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol and then transferred to a public arena where they will _fight to the death until a lone_ _victor remains_. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as... 

The Hunger Games.

o0o

_Now I lay me down to sleep_

_I pray Panem my soul to keep_

_If I should die before I wake_

_I pray Panem my soul to take_

_If I should live for other days_

_I pray the Victor's to guide my ways..._

I finished my silent prayer before drawing back the soft blankets of my bed and tucking myself in for the night.

It was a mercifully quiet night in District 6. The normal cacophony produced by the railways and automobile factories absent.

Things always grew quiet in the days before the reaping. Always.

And tomorrow was no ordinary reaping. This year's games were the 3rd Quarter Quell, meaning that for every 25th Hunger Games, a special stipulation will be added to make them, and the reaping even more horrible. In preparation for this, I prayed.

Prayer and religion were illegal in Panem. The Capitol was the omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent force the districts were expected to worship. But the Capitol was not a deity, and certainly lacked the most important things for a deity to possess.

Benevolence. Compassion. Mercy.

The Capitol had none of these things. If they did they wouldn't snatch children from their homes and force them to murder each other. They wouldn't treat it like it was a reality show and expect us to feel _grateful_ to be picked.

I am 17, so this is the second to last year that I'm eligible to get reaped. My name was only in the mix 6 times. The same as my district. My family wasn't that poor, so I ha never taken out Tesserae. We run a popular art gallery in the districts' center. Although 6's main industry is transportation. Art and music are two of the biggest things here. Since our district lacks a bit in the greenery department, we turn to the arts for pleasure and therapy. 

Well, some people do anyway. Others to to morphling. A powerful painkiller. Morphling addiction is somewhat of a epidemic in 6. We have the highest number of morphling addicts in all of Panem. It led to us having few Victor's in the games, as our tributes propensity for addiction and our industry having nothing to do with wilderness survival or any weaponry like 4, 7, 10, or 11, we have produced the third fewest amount of Victor's. Only ahead of 9 and 12. 

I had no interest in raising that score.

I fell asleep with another prayer. That I would not get reaped tomorrow. I don't want to die. I don't want to kill. I want what normal people want. A life. I want to run my family's art gallery, I want paint and laugh and fall in love. I knew I was strong. I knew I could make those things a reality, so long as i don't get reaped tomorrow. 

I fell asleep content. I had convinced myself I would be okay. 

By noon tomorrow I was thoroughly NOT okay...


	2. The Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about the Quarter Quell and our main character. No Finnick yet, sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to get out and I'm sorry, but I was having trouble translating my ideas into coherent sentences. I have no schedule for this story, but I have lot's of plans, so stay tuned!
> 
> I do not own the Hunger Games whatsoever.

*************************************************************************************

_ On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children are dying because of their choices to initiate violence, every district will be made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who will represent them.  _

The 1st Quarter Quell

  
  


_ On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder to the districts that two rebels died for every one Capitol citizen, twice the number of regular tributes, 2 boys and 2 girls from each district will be reaped, bringing the total number of tributes up to 48.  _

The 2nd Quarter Quell

  
  


_ On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the districts that everyone, regardless of class or creed is subservient to the Capitol, this year's tributes will be reaped from a pool of those who have never taken any Tesserae.  _

The 3rd Quarter Quell

o0o

I froze where I stood in Viewing Square. The twist that was to be added to this year's games was that the tributes were to be reaped from a pool of those eligible who had never taken out any Tesserae. I had never taken out any Tesserae in my life. I had no need to, as my parents had a steady flow of income from their art gallery. I had always felt so fortunate for this fact. I wasn’t starving or morphling addicted like so many others in 6 and across Panem. My name had never been added to the reaping bowls more than the standard plus one for each year. I would have only had my name entered 6 times out of thousands this year, but with this new twist, that number was going to be greatly reduced. My chances of being reaped have skyrocketed. Many people in District 6 take out Tesserae, and I was one of a minority who didn’t.

I felt like I was going to cry as our District’s escort, Bettina Bauble, sashayed up to the girls reaping bowl and began fishing around for a name after she had finished presenting that horrid video on the history of Panem, and the message from President Snow on this year’s Quarter Quell twist. The Capitol’s favorite slogan ‘May the odds be ever in your favor’ did not apply to any of us at this point.

After rummaging through the ball for an  _ eternity _ , Bettina finally withdrew her hand and read the name of the girl who was to be reaped for this year’s games.

“Beretta DeVille”

I glanced over to the now significantly smaller female section, and spotted the girl who must be Beretta DeVille slowly walking away from the small crowd and towards the stage where Bettina was waiting for her. The Capitol git was dressed in a long flowy dress with big shoulder pads, all in the color teal. Even her hair was a wretched shade of teal. 

Beretta DeVille was a tall and statuesque girl, probably from the 18 age division. She had a great figure, with long blond hair. She clearly was the daughter of two of District 6’s higher up’s. Perhaps an elected official's daughter? Or maybe her father ran one of our many factories. Whichever the answer was, it didn’t really matter. She looked impressive, and while I doubted she had any actual weapon or survival experience, her natural beauty and her imposing physique would nab her lots of sponsors. She was perhaps the worst possible pick for a female partner for me, there was no doubt she would command the spotlight and any and all sponsors. I was doomed regardless, but I was twice as doomed if I got reaped now, knowing what I had for a district partner.

All thoughts of Beretta DeVille were wiped from my mind as Bettina Bauble strolled over to the male reaping ball and plunged a tiny hand into the great glass orb, and began to circle her hand around it. Time seemed to slow to a halt as the Capitolite withdrew her hand from the ball at a snail's pace.

Bettina took a moment to clear her throat, and then announced the name of District 6’s male tribute for the 75th Hunger Games.

o0o 

“Royce Bentley.”

My name sounded strange in Bettina’s airy Capitol accent. In a way it sounded powerful. Fancy. Cosmopolitan. It sounded like the name of a wealthy Capitol socialite, or of a skilled and glamorous Victor of a past game. 

I had always like my name, even though being named after to expensive car brands was more suited for a District 1 baby, I had always thought my name was cool. 

Now I wished I had any other name in the world, because any other name was not the name that had just been reaped for the 3rd Quarter Quell.

The diminished crowd of District 6 boys parted in front of me. Creating a path straight for the stage upon which stood Bettina and Beretta, as well as the Mayor, Head Peacekeeper, and the few Victors District 6 had managed to produce, most of which went on to become morphling addicts.

I walked slowly towards the stage. Towards my inevitable demise. I didn’t want to die. I would fight and fight as hard as I could. But the odds were not in my favor.

I glanced at two morphlings as I stepped up onto the portable stage. They were meant to be my mentors, but they didn’t even look like they could help themselves, so I highly doubted they’d have anything to offer me in the games.

I finally came to a stop next to Beretta, who didn’t even bother to glance at such weak prey. I don’t think she’d be itching to form an alliance with me any time soon, so I knew I was  _ really _ on my own. Bettin Bauble smiled and turned back to the withering crowd, announcing our names one more time and urging the lugubrious patrons of District 6 to cheer for their new tributes. There was a quiet, polite applause that followed. Nothing rowdy, I’m sure they doubted either of us could win, and no one outside of 1, 2, and possibly 4 would feel excited for anyone who had been chosen as tribute, so they merely clapped in tandem. A simple farewell gesture to their tributes.

I tuned out everything else Bauble said as I waited for the cursed ceremony to be over. I knew I would get to see my parents before I was officially taken into Capitol custody and sent off to be trained for the Quarter Quell. I tried looking for my parents in the crowd behind the non-chosen group of kids and teens, but there were too many faces to sift through. District 6 had a very large population.

As peacekeepers led Bettina, Beretta, and myself off of the stage, I gave up on looking for my parents amongst the ocean of sullen faces. I would get to see them in a bit anyways, not point in wasting my time.

I moved as if I were sleep walking into the Justice Building. There were peacekeepers everywhere, and the mayor was bustling about talking at a mile a minute. Beretta and I were separated and herded into small, unfurnished rooms where we were told to wait.

I stood unmoving for about 4 minutes before the door opened.

“You have 90 seconds.” I heard a gruff-voiced peacekeeper say, and the next moment my parents had swept into the room and sandwiched me into a big hug.

“We love you so much Royce,” my mother said as tears streamed down her face. She sniffled and then squeezed me even tighter. I don’t think she knew what else to say.

“We believe in you buddy,” my father added. “You’re smarter than all of the tributes, I just know you are. And your a painter, you can use that to your advantage, you can camouflage.”

It actually wasn’t a bad idea. Camouflage has proved successful in the past, and my father was right, as a painter, I knew more about blending and color choice than most. Maybe camouflage was my ticket to becoming a Victor.

We exchanged a few more I love you’s and hugs before the peacekeepers barged back in and separated us. It hit me that this might be the last time I ever see my parents, so I drank in every detail of them, their eyes, ears, noses, hair, clothing, faces, everything.

I reverted back to my trance-like state as Bettina Bauble returned with Beretta in tow, and lead us out of the Justice Building. We got into a fancy, streamline Capitol car. Nicer than any I’d ever been in despite living in the transportation district. One long, quie and foreboding car ride later and Beretta and I were on a train, designed by our fellow District 6’ers, speeding off towards the Capitol and our potential deaths. Only one of us was going to make it out alive, and I was determined for that to be me.

o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and feel free to comment! I love hearing feedback! Also, let me know what you thin of District 6's tributes names! They're both named after famous luxury car brands, both first and last.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment if you so desire.


End file.
